Family
by darthsydious
Summary: The night Matilda is born, Sherlock overhears John speaking of the life she's born into. John/Molly.


John Watson never thought he would be a father. If you asked him three years ago, he might never have thought that Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes' favorite pathologist would be the mother of his children. But now as he held their firstborn in his arms, he felt his heart absolutely melt, and his mind forever made up that life could not be better any other way but this. He cradled the baby in his arms, pure love and pride and affection pouring from his every fiber. He looked over at Molly, fast asleep after nearly twenty hours of labor; it was a well earned rest. Sherlock had been sleeping on the sofa but had disappeared, stating he would return soon. John shrugged it off for now, not terribly concerned with the Consulting Detective's whereabouts for the moment. Right now he had all he needed. Moving to stand by the window, John pressed a kiss to Matilda's forehead.

"You look so like your mother," he spoke quietly. She cooed in his arms and he couldn't hold back a smile. "You've my nose though, I'm sorry for that," he sat down on the window sill, looking out over London. "You've been born into quite a family, my girl," he said with a sigh and a smile. John beamed at Matilda as her eyes drifted shut briefly but opened again when he began to talk. "Your Uncle, who isn't really your Uncle, is the best part. Sherlock Holmes," he smiled to himself. "That's a name you'll grow up hearing as often as Queen Elizabeth, probably more so," he laughed. "He's a brilliant fellow, and I think sometimes if it weren't for him, your mum and I might not have gotten together," he paused, frowning as he thought. "Come to think of it, I never would have met your mum if it wasn't for him, so there you have it, another thing for him to preen about for," Matilda fussed and so he began to rock her a little. "Granted, he's an arrogant prick most of the time, with his head up his arse when it comes to feelings and manners, he tends to forget important things like family and meal times and taking care of anyone, especially himself, but…"

Sherlock was out in the hallway, having returned from business elsewhere (checking on cultures down in the lab he'd been nurturing for six weeks, nobody would miss him for twenty minutes if he went to check on them.) John was sitting up with Matilda, speaking quietly to her. He could hear John speaking of someone,

"Arrogant arse most of the time-" Ah. Mycroft. But no, not Mycroft, though granted most of the descriptions could have been used for either Holmes brother. Just when Sherlock was about to enter the room and make John eat crow, there was a pause, and so he waited as well.

"But," said John. "He's also my mate. He's my best friend, he's saved hundreds of people, is known throughout Europe and America, everyone and their brother wants a picture of Sherlock Holmes, but he doesn't care," He could see John now, holding Matilda in his arms, he'd moved from the window to sit by Molly. "Everything he cares about is right on 221 Baker Street." He shrugged a little. "Nearly everything," he amended. "And now you get to be a part of his world." He said it as if it were something to attain to, which made Sherlock pause. He knew he was a genius, he knew 99% of the world's populations were morons. Most people who encountered him usually wanted to punch him in the head, even if he was right all the time. No one wanted to be around Sherlock, usually because he WAS right all the time. What was it they called him? Oh yes. "Arrogant Arsehole". "I'll tell you something Matilda, it's not easy, being a part of his life," John was smiling now. "But take it from Mum and me, it's the best life there is, the _very_ best."

Molly stirred, she reached her hand out, touching John's shirt sleeve.

"There you are," she murmured sleepily,

"Feeling alright?"

"Yes," she said. "Tired still, but that's to be expected," Matilda began to fuss, her father's soothing voice was not enough, she was hungry now.

"I think someone wants to see you," he said, and Molly pushed herself up. One hand cradling the baby, John unpinned the front of her gown with his other hand, and then placed the baby in her arms. Matilda latched onto her mother's breast almost immediately.

"Greedy little thing!" Molly laughed. She looked up at John, who met her gaze. She was almost startled by the gentleness and love and admiration in his eyes as he regarded her. He bent, kissing her reverently.

"My darlings," he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers. "I love you,"

"I love you too,"

Sherlock had never seen himself attached to anyone. Never regarded himself as a family man. But here was a family before him. A family made up of the two people in the world that Sherlock Holmes fiercely protected and yes, indeed loved. Now three. Matilda Anne Watson, born 3.4kg, 36.8cm, brown hair, blue eyes born to Drs. John and Molly Watson. She was an infant, important in every way to John and Molly. Therefore by extension of them important to Sherlock. He had little regard for children of any sort. He of course didn't want them to be hurt or abused in any way, but aside from now and again coming across them during a case he didn't really come into contact with them. He wasn't exactly a "sit on Uncle Sherly's lap and have a story" type. Yet now here was a twinge in his heart. He watched John and Molly speak quietly, heads bowed together as they admired the baby suckling her breast (which thanks to pregnancy, was somewhat larger, and John was too much of a gentleman to say but he was still a man and it gave him some boyish delight that his wife had a considerable rack now. Sherlock knew his friend.) This thought made him smirk somewhat, out of sentiment for both of them. Three of them. Now they were four. Or was it only three? Was Sherlock still part of the Watson family? John looked up and so did Molly, as if reading his thoughts. John motioned him inside, and Molly did as well. After a pause, hesitating, he went forward. Sherlock found himself not wanting to force himself on the Watson's as they started this new chapter of their life together. Not unless they wanted him to. For now those worries dissipated as Molly greeted him, holding out her free arm for him to come over so she could press his cheek. He humored her, (something he decided to get into the habit of). Seeing the miracle, for that what it indeed was, of a woman giving birth does change a man, and for Sherlock it was a memory tucked quite safely away in his mind palace. Sherlock took his place on the couch, folding himself up onto it and placed his fingers under his chin, sinking into his thoughts.

He eventually voiced his concerns after a few months had gone by, that he did not wish to keep intruding on them as a family. John's response was to call Molly down to 221b, who invariably had the baby with her. It was then that Sherlock was informed that not only was he stuck in his current lodgings now and for always (for what IS Baker Street without Sherlock Holmes), but it was inevitable that wherever Holmes went, the Watsons would too.

"What is Sherlock Holmes without the Doctors Watson?" John asked cheerfully. Sherlock opened his mouth. "Shut up Sherlock." Molly pressed his cheek, passing Matilda to her husband before going to make tea.


End file.
